If Only
by Suzume Jun
Summary: Remembering the past is something England's brothers don't do often. But when Scotland does he wishes the Roman Empire hadn't taken their runt away from them as a child. Believing that if England had been raised by his older brothers like he was supposed to be everything would have been better. How wrong he was... Rating due to paranoia, drinking, and later Scotty's mouth.
1. Be Careful What You Wish For

I DO NOT OWN HETALIA

Scotland sits in one of his pubs stoned beyond all sense. As he always is on the day of his mother's death. Memories keep flashing through his mind reminding him of when he and his brothers were younger. And he can't help but blame England for her death, then himself for breaking his promise with her to protect his little brothers that led to it being England's fault.

'No.' He thinks, if only to shift the blame onto someone else.

'It was the Roman Empire who caused everything. If only... If only the bloody bastard had not taken wee Albion away from us.'

Remember how you were told to be careful about what you think, say, and do when you were younger?

This is why...


	2. Waking Up

If Only: Chapter 1 – Waking Up

When Scotland first wakes up he doesn't notice any one thing particularly off about his surroundings. It's more that everything was just slightly off. Enough so that even though he knew the cozy old cabin in the middle of the wooded Highlands s his home it didn't FEEL like it was.

The place was too much of so many things to be his…

Too clean

Too cold

Too dark

Too unforgiving

The difference scared him (Not that he would admit it). Getting up from his bed he can't help but miss the swearing at empty beer bottles on the way to his dresser that SHOULD have happened but COULDN'T because there were no such beer bottles in his way.

Bloody hell, there were no beer bottles in his room spare one unopened bottle of scotch setup on a platter with an empty mug and a bottle of painkillers that had been placed on a table that was located next to his bedroom door.

A table that had never been there before this morning…

The clothing in his dresser was not what he expected them to be. Yes he knew they were his… SOMEHOW, but they weren't what he had been opening his drawers to see for years. The colors were mostly earth tones and every once in a while there was a blue or a red but not nearly in the vibrant shades he had become accustomed to nowadays.

Then he catches sight of himself in his mirror…

He was tall with messy shoulder length crimson hair and the customary Kirkland set of thick eyebrows paired with green eyes (His were a slightly darker green than Arthur's). His skin was a nice tannish color from working out in the sun so much. He was strongly built with his masculine dominance backed by muscles he had strengthened over the centuries effortlessly. Large hands calloused, eyes sharp and unkind (Able to stare down that idiot Russian that had been trying to acquire the runt of the Kirkland family for a while now in only a few seconds), and a wild untamable air about him that screamed to everyone around that he was the type parents warned their daughters about but attracted the poor innocents like a moth to flame regardless. He had slight stubble due to no t shaving yet that morning but added to his looks, making him look more attractive instead of creeper-like as it did for a certain Frog we all know and love.

He was wearing a simple warm sheep wool long-sleeve and a slightly beat up pair of sweatpants that had seen better days. Up his left ear were three steal rings and two steal link chains hung from around his neck, a Celtic cross attached to the end of one admist all the metal was a lonely piece of rope hiding its burden under his shirt. He lifts it to reveal an old Celtic knot he recognized completely at first glimpse.

It had been given to him by Britannia before she went off to war against the Roman Empire. There were four of them. One for each of her sons; her reminder to all of them that while they may be four countries they are one family…

…And family protects each other no matter what happens.

He quickly changes into a worn pair of blue jeans and puts on a pair of sturdy work boots. Just now realizing how cold the hard stone beneath his feet as he tried to distract himself from such thoughts. From experience he could say that they only lead to pain and misery. Before he leaves his room he grabs another wool long-sleeve to pull on over his scarred chest and Pours himself a mug of scotch.

However once he reaches the kitchen doorway he stops. Frozen in place by shock and the scotch he had been sipping on drops to the floor…

**Hello There! Please don't hurt me for the long wait on updating this one. I actually wrote out this chapter and the next one a while ago but lost the notebook I was using to do so before I had a chance to type them. I hope no one is disappointed with how any of my stories are coming out. I wish I could say I don't care what other people think of my work but that is sadly not the case. The next chapter should be up shortly…**

**Until next time, Bye!**


	3. Albion?

If Only: Chapter 3 - Alboin?

Scotland stands frozen in his kitchen doorway staring at his kitchen sink. Well… more like the child standing in front of said sink putting a steady dent in the amount of dirty dishes he owned.

"Albion?"

He finally asks, though there was no question in his mind the identity of the preteen boy who stands there hard at work.

How he wished there was…

The expressionless boy that turned to face him but had his eyes trained not on him but at the now dirty floor underneath his feet could not be his youngest brother Arthur Elizabeth Kirkland, the proud personification of England.

If there wasn't something screaming in the back of his mind that yes this was indeed the Kirkland family runt Scotland knew without a doubt he wouldn't have believed such a thing.

It could be truthfully said that a corpse had more life in its eyes than this child. Said eyes were, of course, green. However, they were a far cry from the shining innocent emerald of Albion's and instead of finding himself lost in them like he usually was they made the older country want to vomit. These eyes were the unnatural and revolting glowy-green color of nuclear waste.

His hair is ragged and messy. NOT like the wild hair possessed by all of the Kirklands which seemed to have a life of its own and was untamable by nature (Proven courtesy of France to the displeasure of England) but a different kind …The kind that came from neglect and bad hygiene. The hair that SHOULD have been golden blonde and slightly stubborn was a tangled mess that went down to the boy's elbows held back from his face unsuccessfully with a fraying piece of rope that looked ready to snap apart at any second. There were streaks of crimson locks in his hair, the blonde now the brown color of a field of unfertile soil that hadn't produced life successfully in centuries.

The hands Scotland had known to be soft, dainty, feminine, little things with very little to no callouses were gone without a trace. Replaced by hands that are hard, rough, and heavily calloused. The fingernails chipped and caked with dirt, grime, and blood the skin dried and cracked so badly they were bleeding slightly.

Dark circles due to lack of sleep have made their home under his eyes a long time ago and his complexion isn't the attractive pale it had been for as long as Scotland could remember but a pasty ghost-like white that had no chance of being considered healthy to any stretch of the imagination.

Lastly was the state of his clothes.

Ripped, dirty clothes that should have not only been thrown away but burned years ago hung off of his severally starved stick figure frame. The articles so big it was ridiculous he even tried wearing them. His t-shirt slid off his boney pathetic shoulder and down an arm so weak and thin that it could easily break from simply the act of him bracing himself while tripping over a pebble (Albion was always so clumsy it was hilarious. And the way he always threw a fit afterwards, not his usual rant, was absolutely adorable) all the way to his elbow. His pants were similar to the pairs Scotland had seen in one of his drawers but centuries older and way more bloodstained. It was held up by a cord of rope that was in the same condition as the one that held his hair back. The ends of his pant legs were rolled up so someone with a whole lot more accomplished sense of balance and height could have a chance walking with them on. Albion would have looked cute, like a toddler wearing her mother's clothes, had it not been so obvious that this was far from a child's harmless game of dress up.

As he finishes studying the boy and noticing all of his un- or ill- treated injuries he realizes two things.

1: The boy had yet to move from his place in front of the sink. He was just standing there like a puppet whose strings had been left at attenchine, waiting for its master to give it another command. Scotland tried to push away the little voice in the back of his head that sounded way to much like _his_ Albion saying that this Albion had simply replied to his presence in the room. NOT someone saying his pre-Roman Invasions name.

2: This Albion had yet to speak to him… or even truly acknowledge his presence beyond standing at attenchine looking straight at the floorboards in front of him.

The door swings open as Seamus walks inside from the woods and Albion moves so quickly it's as if the Irish coffee simply appears in Seamus' hand on its own.

"Finally decided to get up I see."

He says to Scotland completely ignoring the youngest in the room. Who, in turn, doesn't seem to care he was being brushed aside.

'_Just what the bloody hell is going on here?'_

**Hello again, told you the net update would be soon. A few errors about the last chapter, First of all it is Chapter 2 not Chapter 1 but I don't think that would throw anyone off at all. Second, I had Scotland wear all the steel so that he was protected from the fairies in the area stealing him away from the world. I did this in a moment of memory lapse please do not be offended if it is actually supposed to be iron. I am but a lazy American and would rather do something wrong and apologize for it in a footnote later on than take the time to review my notes on the subject again. Also do to that reason I am not going to write the accents into everyone's speech because I know for a fact I will mess up horribly and they deserve a lot more than that. However you will find the occasional foreign word and in most of these cases the translation (Most likely supplied by my dear friend Google) will be put right above my usual ranting footnote. I really hope none of this subtracts from the story and if it does I will actually take the time to fix whatever it is to fit the majority of my reviewers… as the author I still possess the right of artistic license though so if it doesn't happen please don't form an angry mob. The chapters should be getting a little longer and things should start to gain speed after this. I apologize for the length of my chapters so far. I guess they should really be called installments instead of chapters. Oh well, whats done is done.**

**Until next time…**

**Bye!**


End file.
